


Invade My Heart

by cosmicConundrum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1960s, Cute, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter - Freeform, Humor, M/M, Mary Poppins - Freeform, Modern Era, Oneshot, Sherlock - Freeform, The Beatles - Freeform, The British Invasion, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but also not really a oneshot, canonverse, doctor who - Freeform, mild swearing, which is later resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7387324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicConundrum/pseuds/cosmicConundrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"1963 had been a perfectly normal year. A perfectly, utterly normal year. Nothing really special happened. He would have just lived through the entirety of 1963 without batting an eye at the rest of the cultural world, but then… it had to happen."</p><p>America realizes that he really, really admires England's culture. Like, a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invade My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Finally finished writing my VERY FIRST HETALIA FANFIC EVER! Hopefully it doesn't suck as much as my actual first fandom fanfic ever, which was awful and still makes me cringe every time I read it. Anyways, this is a wonderful fic for all you wonderful USUK shippers out there. It includes the Beatles, Harry Potter, Mary Poppins, Sherlock, and Doctor Who, along with an assortment of other stuff. Enjoy!
> 
> Happy birthday America!

1963 had been a perfectly normal year. A perfectly, utterly normal year. Nothing really special happened. He would have just lived through the entirety of 1963 without batting an eye at the rest of the cultural world, but then… _it_ had to happen. The Washington Post had mentioned something about some kind of band in the United Kingdom. America didn’t pay much attention to it, really. It was just another one of those bands that went out of style just as quickly as it went in. Music these days was no longer as original nor attention-garnering as it used to be, America thought. But then, there had been that broadcast. And then the release of “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”

And then all he could do was suddenly be overwhelmed by an immense desire to listen to that one song over and over again. Seriously, it was such a good song. The mindset of his people, of American teenagers especially, had such an impact on his music tastes that he simply succumbed to their needs, which just so happened to be listening to “I Want to Hold Your Hand” over and over again. _That_ happened during the beginning of 1964. It was then that the Beatles had officially arrived in the United States. Then more bands flooded America. There were the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and so many more. The music taste of every single person looking for new, interesting music suddenly became England centric. And poor America suffered the brunt of it all. It was only after this one time he was listening to the song that he realized it had been playing on repeat for the last forty minutes, and that he maybe kinda may have slightly had an obsession. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, of course! The song didn’t suck, as much as he tried to convince himself that the contrary wasn’t true. Who would have expected England of all people to have good music?

At least it gave him an excuse to listen to bad music, he tried convincing himself at one point. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was made fun of. A young adult who listened to British music too often for it to be socially acceptable was one who was mocked day in and day out. Especially by the other nations. Alas, America could not control what his people felt. He was the one controlled by them, after all.

Not that any of his mental excuses helped save him from the mocking. England was unfortunately the first one to find out about America’s newfound obsession, and acknowledged it like the smug bastard he was. It had happened during a perfectly normal world meeting. Or at least it was normal until America’s stack of musical relief had been discovered.

America walked up to the podium, confident as ever. He even took the time to flash a blindingly bright smile at his fellow nations, who only rolled their eyes in response. As soon as he actually stood behind the podium, though, he realized that he had forgotten his notes in his briefcase, which was lying on the floor next to his seat. He groaned. He didn’t actually know enough about foreign trade to make a speech on it without his notes. So he glanced at his seat and sighed, ready to walk back and search his undoubtedly unorganized briefcase for the notes. Before he could do that, though, a voice spoke up.

“You didn’t forget your notes again, did you?” It was England.

America laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to acknowledge the truth.

“Yeah, so? By the way, my notes happen to be in that suitcase by my seat. Can you get them for me? Thanks!” He loudly yelled, hoping to cover up his earlier mistake with his confidence.

The other blond sighed. America watched happily as England bent down to pick up the suitcase. England then opened it, and to no one’s surprise, the contents inside practically spilled out. Among the scattered sheets of paper with messy writing on them were several bags of McDonald’s, assorted clothes, and oddly enough, several vinyl disks. America realized with utter horror that he had been carrying some of the Beatles’ vinyls in his suitcase. England picked up one of the vinyls with a curious expression on his face.

In the blink of an eye, America was by the other nation. He swiped the disk from the other’s hands and quickly shoved everything back into his briefcase, minus the papers. The case was slammed shut so loudly it echoed off the oddly silent walls of the meeting room. America nervously met the sharp green eyes of England, and gulped. He desperately hoped that no one had seen what was on the vinyls, because his life would surely be over if someone found out.

“Was that--”

“Nope,” America yelled, and all but threw his briefcase under the table. England frowned at him, though a hint of a smirk lingered on his face.

Without any further words, America collected his papers and made his way back to the podium while trying to ignore the suddenly very interested stares of the rest of the nations.

His speech ended up being kind of sucky.

Since when was America the one to get embarrassed in front of others? Never. Exactly. That was when the nation knew that something was definitely up. It wasn’t like some stupid song and a few bands could take down a hero as awesome as himself, of course! But suddenly America felt a little less sure of himself, and more sure that England’s music was really, really good. Like, super good. Damn the sheer amount of US citizens who loved that music!

America thought that the British music thing was just going to be a phase. Just like how other interests of the citizens had come and gone throughout the years. But it didn’t stop with the music.

The James Bond series became immensely popular too. Suddenly, America was much more interested in the lives and missions of secret service agents.

“You said you didn’t really care that much about the CIA before,” his boss pointed out.

“Well, I still don’t, really, but…” America trailed off as images of the British secret service agent flashed through his mind. There was no way he would ever, ever acknowledge his obsession. Not even to someone of as high a rank as his boss, because personal information was of the highest importance.

It wasn’t like he could avoid suspicion from his boss, though, so he ended up telling him the truth, or at least part of it. So what if America thought hand to hand combat was cool? So what if he wanted to learn more about how the secret service agencies worked by studying his own? So what if he had to ask his boss about it to do so? He only wanted to learn, that’s all.

America spent the next few years living his British-band-craze phase and James Bond fangirling down. To his utter horror, Mary Poppins was released by Disney not too long after. He had seen the movie title popping up over and over again, in posters around the country, as well as in random newspaper articles. It turned out that Mary Poppins wasn’t just some regular awesome American movie, either. The movie had garnered the attention of the entire country, especially of families with young children. It had also garnered the attention of movie award people, whoever even did that. He didn’t even have an excuse when Japan came over for their next movie and video game exchange. Mary Poppins was an American film that starred an English actress, as well as a film made by one of the most successful American companies ever, as well as a film that won more oscars than any other film by that company. To put it simply, the public was infatuated with that movie. And it was an American film that told of the glorious lifestyle of England. And people liked that movie.

When he next saw England, he had accidentally bumped into the man in the empty halls of the building where the world meeting was taking place.

“Oh, hi England!” he managed to say, trying to ignore the suspicious way his heart suddenly started beating faster.

England regarded America with an unreadable expression. The latter nation looked away in order to not get swept up in that green, green gaze, and possibly do something really stupid because of that. Like fall to his knees and totally hero-worship England, which wasn’t all that unlikely giving his obsession.

“I saw that movie you released,” was all England said, after a tense minute.

America gulped.

“W-what do you think?”

“It was alright. Not bad for a movie made by you. I honestly expected something a lot worse,” England remarked, looking away for a moment to adjust the files in his arms. He looked back at America soon after, and an involuntary wave of something… admiration, maybe, danced its way through the younger nation’s stomach.

“Really?” America couldn’t help smiling. “Wow, you’ve never complimented one of my movies before!”

“Don’t expect it to happen again anytime soon,” England snapped, though it hardly damaged America’s growing pride for his own country.

America thought that the movie would surely be the end of this phase, but he was once again proven wrong. All those bands and movies and England’s culture in general had come together to influence the fashion and culture of his own people. What later came to be known as Swinging London brought stuff like a miniskirt craze to young American women. New hairstyles also came. Not that America himself ever considered changing his own hair, which he thought was perfectly fine in every way. He couldn’t really wear a miniskirt either, though he was sure that if he was a girl, he would. And at this point, he had to violently shove thoughts of himself in England’s clothes out of his mind. But still, he couldn’t help feeling a bit of admiration for England. Perhaps the stodgy old grump wasn’t as boring as he previously thought.

Many more years passed, and a new wave of music craze began again. British music once again soared in popularity on every single top 100 song chart in the country. For example, “Every Breath You Take” was number one in 1983. In order to avoid death from embarrassment, America managed to survive not listening to any more of England’s songs, at least not while in the presence of others. But it only kept happening. Bands like Queen gained more attention, along with the most popular bands.

“Damn it, England, why does your culture have to be so cool!?” America yelled at the wall one afternoon, while gazing longingly at the large pile of vinyls on the small table by the couch he was sitting in. Oh, how he wanted to pick up that disk and put it on the player. But he couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep his pride alive. And sometimes, America really liked his pride.

Luckily, not long after that recurrence of what came to be known as the British Invasion passed, America’s own singers and artists started to become popular again. When he could finally safely say that Michael Jackson was the most popular singer, he relaxed once more. It was nerve-wracking trying to suppress his desires which were influenced by the people in his country. And if he had let anyone, especially France, Japan, or Canada know about his obsession with England’s culture in general, he would probably shrivel up and die from embarrassment. Sadly, he couldn’t hide the fact that the top 100 charts had been displaying the names of British artists for years now.

America enjoyed his two decades of living his previous actions down. The world meetings then passed a lot more quickly, and he found that he could finally look England in the eye again. He did, however, feel a little sad whenever he came across that stack of vinyls sitting in his living room, like he had lost something very dear to him. Every once in a while, he would pick up one of the vinyls and play it, just for nostalgia’s sake. Hey, even he wasn’t dumb enough to ignore the genius idea-turned-reality of England’s music.

America found that he grew more comfortable around England, and there was none of that tension separating them like it had before the war. America was glad that it was gone, and that he could finally spend time with his friend and ally again. It reminded him a little of how they used to be, back in the days when America was a young colony and England took care of him. They would always spend time together, at least whenever England was around. Running around in gold fields of wheat had been a hobby for America then. Nowadays, it was more like binge-watching all twenty something episodes in a new show he just found. At least he could do it with England now. It was much better than sitting all alone, by himself, pathetically holding onto a pillow and yelping every time there was a jump scare or something else.

Although America felt he was growing closer to England, he also felt more distant. This was probably due to his heightened self-consciousness, a direct effect of his obsession with England’s culture.

On the other hand, poor England would have to endure America’s screeching whenever he had the misfortune of being there while America watched a horror movie or a scary episode of another one of those zombie shows or played one of Japan’s increasingly violent video games. Sometimes, England got a little worried about what Japan had seen and been through.

“Hey, America,” England said during one of their viewing sessions, “Have you seen Doctor Who yet?”

America had been so captivated by the events on the screen that England thought his neck would probably snap from sticking out so far. England snapped his fingers in front of the nation’s face a few times to try to get his attention. America jumped with a start.

“Oh, haha, sorry, what did you say?” America laughed a little sheepishly.

“Have you seen my show, Doctor Who?” England asked again. He was a little eager to know about America’s reaction to the show. It had been out for a long time, but only recently introduced into the United States, and he wasn’t even sure if America got to see it yet.

Though he had a sneaking suspicion that the show was bound to strike something deep in the younger nation’s heart. After all, it had explosions and aliens and time travel. England could not possibly know America any better than he already did, and he knew that science fiction always appealed to him. Especially when it came all bundled up with explosions, aliens, and time travel.

“No, actually. Why?” America wondered, curious.

“I felt like you would like it. It’s about a time traveling alien called the Doctor, and his adventures,” England paused to get up from the couch and walk into the other room to retrieve something he had left on one of the tables. He returned a moment later with a few DVD cases, and handed them to America.

“I brought these here, so you can watch them whenever you like. You can have them.”

America examined the cases in his hands with wide, blue eyes, then looked back at England again.

“Wow, thanks! It’ll probably suck just like all your other shows and stuff, though!” He laughed loudly and obnoxiously, because there just wasn’t any other way America could laugh.

England simply rolled his eyes and let the smallest hint of a smirk grace his features.

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten about the music,” he whispered, then made himself comfortable, crossed one leg over the other, and continued watching the TV as if he hadn’t interrupted their viewing before.

America felt his face warm at the memory. So England hadn’t forgotten. Darn it!

It was only a few weeks after that incident that America had started actually watching the show. He could only really feel boredom for the first few episodes. Of course, he felt he had a personal moral obligation to watch the show. England had gifted the DVDs to him, and he wasn’t just going to throw them into a closet and forget about their existence like he had with so many other gifts England gave him! America’s heart ached at the memories, and images of a box of toy soldiers and a pristine vintage suit flashed through his mind. So, as of the present, he sat on his comfy leather couch with a nice, large bowl of popcorn, and tried to enjoy the show as much as he could.

America was very experienced with watching shows, and could tell exactly when he was done with a show, or addicted to it. He had been able to dismiss shows he had been only half an episode into just from his master’s intuition. His ability was always handy whenever he judged another one of those low budget late-night things that came out every six months or so. He had begun to lose faith in his own shows. America probably would have wasted hours more of his life watching shows he didn’t like if he hadn’t developed that talent beforehand. So it was when he was well into the fifth or sixth episode of Doctor Who that he had his epiphany.

“Oh no,” he whispered, “No, no, no!”

It had happened, just like it had happened with those songs and England’s fashion. America was really, _really_ into this show. Damn it, America thought angrily, why did this always happen? And why did it only happen with England’s stuff? He could easily watch one of Japan’s shows, and while he would acknowledge that it was good, he wouldn’t get addicted to it, like he had with Doctor Who. And Japan’s stuff was really, really good, most of the time. Could it just be that England’s stuff was just better? Deep down, he knew the answer. But he hadn’t lost enough pride to admit it out loud to himself yet.

America wondered if the opinions of his people had something to do with this. Perhaps they just got excited over a new science fiction show. The same thing had happened when Star Wars came out so many years ago, though that was America’s own movie. Oh well. He shrugged it off, and tried to play it cool. Of course, everyone knew right away that another piece of England’s culture had just found and made its permanent home in America’s heart.

At the next world meeting, America returned to desperately avoiding England’s gaze. He couldn’t dare look into the eyes of his ally for fear that he would once again do something terribly stupid, like freeze up and stammer, and god forbid anyone seeing the United States of America stammering. He tried to keep up his confident front so that no one could see he was slowly falling for England. Literally. The second day into the meeting, he got distracted by thoughts of England and tripped and fell down the stairs in a highly unmajestic manner. He arrived back at the meeting room only _slightly_ later than usual with a messy pile of papers under his right arm and a scratched briefcase under the other.

China paused mid-speech in favor of rolling his eyes and facepalming.

“This is why we never get anything done!” Germany yelled, and followed suit in facepalming.

America laughed a little more nervously than before, but carried his stuff over to his seat as random papers slipped from his damaged briefcase and slid across the floor. He didn’t even bother bending over and picking him up, since he knew he never used those notes anyway. Improvisation was the best method of making world-saving speeches, after all! Unlike last time with his speech on foreign trade, he did kind of know some stuff about global warming by heart! He was sure he could survive one improvised speech on the topic, and perhaps make up for the embarrassment he suffered last time.

The blond nation plopped down in his seat, radiating almost-confidence more than ever. However, he didn’t really prepare for what happened next. England got up from his seat, which was only around three feet away, and stomped over to America.

“What are you doing?” England began scolding America, arms crossed over his chest in a stern manner, “What happened to you? Don’t tell me you did something stupid like run into a wall again.”

The running into a wall thing was also a thing brought upon America by England. It had happened the last last meeting, in which America did not fall down the stairs, but instead had been too focused looking around for his friend and ended up walking into a wall. His glasses got scratched up and he was sure he had a bruise on his nose for days, and it was so, entirely England’s fault. But then when England had found the younger nation, he had fussed and attempted to tend to his bruised nose and forehead by cleaning it with a slightly damp paper towel. Needless to say, America got too flustered during the whole thing, and tried pushing England away. England’s reaction was to yell at America for being an idiot and finish what he originally intended to do, all while America still stood, face redder than probably humanly, er, nationly possible, and prayed that England didn’t notice his odd behavior.

America’s flashback to the past ended there, and his mind caught up to the present. Confused, America looked down at himself. Oh. His little tumble had done more damage than he had thought, leaving his clothes disheveled and his hair an absolute mess.

“I, uh, kinda slipped and fell down the stairs,” America tried to laugh, but it only came out strained and weak sounding. He winced and thought about how much he wanted to crawl under the table and hide. He would do anything to avoid making more eye contact with England. He was sure that if he looked into those mesmerizing eyes for a second longer his front would shatter, and he would melt into a dishonorable puddle of fangirl goo at the older nation’s feet.

Shaking his head, England reached over with one slender hand to begin dusting off America’s brown bomber jacket. America held uncomfortably still and tried not to gulp audibly and probably failed. This was quite literally a completely normal occurrence between the two of them at this point. America would do something stupid like forget how to tie a tie, or walk into a wall like last time, and then England would swoop in like an overly protective mother hen and fix whatever it was for him, often accompanied by scolding and insults. Usually, America wouldn’t mind, but it was… weirder this time. Like there was something between them that wasn’t there only a few decades earlier. The younger nation knew exactly what it was, too. Definitely his love for England’s culture. As of the present, he tried looking nonchalant as England smoothed down his jacket one last time, then turned around and started picking up the papers that had scattered across the room earlier. The room was silent save for England’s muttering. America was sure that his own face was more red than Romano’s at this point, which is an achievement in itself. He probably deserved the Nobel Peace Prize for his quietness.

“Um,” America hesitated as England stomped right back over to where he was awkwardly standing, and shoved the papers into his hands.

“Do try to be more organized and less clumsy next time,” England suggested, and returned to his own seat.

America noticed that everyone in the room was staring at him, and not in the way that he preferred, either. Normally, he wouldn’t mind attention, but this was a little overwhelming. Especially since most of the other nations were hiding quiet snickers behind papers or palms, and shooting rapid glances at America and England both. America nervously laughed a little.

“Anyways,” Germany glared at America one last time before respectfully returning his gaze to the nation that was supposed to be harboring the attention of the room, “Let’s let the meeting continue.”

The poor, embarrassed young nation heaved a giant sigh of relief as attention was directed away from him. Now he really wasn’t sure he could live _anything_ down anymore. He spent the parts of the meeting when he wasn’t supposed to be making speeches staying silent, and refusing to look anyone at all in the eye. This was entirely England’s fault, he mentally raged, I would totally be all confident and normal by now if it weren’t for him and his really good music and really addictive TV shows, and also overly caring tendencies, and, and…

America mentally kicked himself. He couldn’t get distracted again! He needed to focus on the meeting and prove to the world that he was truly the awesome and faultless nation he needed to assure others he was. If only England could not impose his presence on the boy all the time. America was having a hard enough time trying not to blush and stammer whenever he was in close proximity to the older nation!

When it was his turn to speak, he only brought his notes with him for fear of attracting more lectures from England, who had been the one to pick up his papers. If he hadn’t used them, England would probably say something along the lines of, “So you’re not even going to use them, after I got them for you?” or “You must be more organized next time!” and it was beginning to make him nervous. Luckily, his speech did not suck as much as it did last last meeting, and he returned to his seat with his pride mostly restored.

After the meeting, America found he still had enough of his original confidence remaining to stay behind and chat with some lingering nations, rather than slam the door open and run down to the nearest McDonald’s for some comfort food. Luckily, England was nowhere in sight. America relaxed. He wasn’t sure he could maintain his cool, or what was left of it, if England was there. America decided to approach Japan, who was standing all by himself in the corner of the room. Japan was always reliable, and always listened to what America said. Though in reality it was more like Japan was too quiet to really provide his opinion over America’s. But America didn’t know that.

“Hey, Japan!” he boomed.

“Oh, hello, America-san,” Japan responded, a little surprised.

America noticed that Japan was giving him a look. _The_ look. The one that all the other nations gave him whenever he messed up in his speech or faltered in his confidence. It was rare for any other nation to do that! America was slightly proud of his sudden realization, because normally he was told that he couldn’t read the atmosphere and had no idea what was going on outside of his country. So… why had everyone been giving him that look?

“Japan, you’re doing it again,” he commented.

“I am doing what again?” Japan asked.

“You’re doing the,” America waved vaguely at Japan’s face, “the weird look thing. That you guys always give me.”

“Ah, I see,” Japan said, a lot more quietly than before, and the look disappeared.

Since Japan still hadn’t really answered America’s question yet, America attempted to appear threatening by raising an eyebrow questioningly. From the black-haired nation’s lack of a response, his attempt was probably a failure.

“I shouldn’t say anything. Apologies,” Japan said, then hurried away like he was late for the release of the newest episode of his favorite anime.

America furrowed his brows and shrugged. Perhaps it was some sort of inside joke for all of them, seeing him mess up. Oh well. He would have to try harder next time not to get… distracted... by certain island-nations with cool cultures! It would certainly be difficult, but it wasn’t like heroes couldn’t solve their problems! America smiled to himself. Surely he could figure out a way to function like a normal human being on the outside and secretly enjoy watching stuff like Doctor Who at the same time. It was likely a good idea to talk to England, and maybe he would build up some tolerance to his need to fangirl over the country. Yes, that was a good idea.

America turned around slowly, scanning the empty conference room for the other nation. Gone. Drat. America heaved an exasperated sigh, and turned to walk out of the room. Many steps and a lot of deep thought later, he was at the front of the hotel he was staying at. America always made it a point to stay at the hotel the other nations were staying at whenever a world meeting was hosted in his own country, because he liked being a good host. A gentle breeze passed through the open door, carrying with it a few stray leaves. It was spring, one of the best seasons. America paused to think about what he could do later in the day, if he had free time. Was it warm enough to go swimming in his pool yet? Because he really wanted to swim in that pool. Seeing it covered for an entire winter had made him sad.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur, America not retaining any of the events. The meetings finished only two days later, and a shy-for-once America bidded England goodbye at the airport. Just as England was about to pass through the security check area, he turned around, and actually fully _smirked_ at America, before disappearing behind a large crowd of people. America stared at the spot where England was just two seconds ago, jaw hanging open like a generic cartoon character. Had England just… _smirked_ ? At _him_? He tried not to stumble or get trampled by the people rushing by. When he was finally safe, he allowed himself a moment to swallow the uncomfortable lump forming in his throat, and calm the rapid beating of his heart.

Oh dear.

This couldn’t be happening. Was England flirting with him? Or maybe teasing him. Probably both. A sudden flashback to the meeting and a certain distraught nation adjusting his tie caused his face to flush. Oh well. America knew he probably shouldn’t have stood there there any longer, gazing longingly at where his friend had left. People were beginning to give him weird looks as they walked by.

After that, America was able to live semi-peacefully without the everlasting issues that came with his admiration for England. He had known stuff like the Beatles and Doctor Who for enough time for his fangirling to tone down. He totally got his cool back, after losing it and everything.

Having his cool back didn’t stop him from indulging in England’s literature, though. Harry Potter, was, as a matter of fact, not that bad. At first, America couldn’t really understand the appeal to the series. It sounded like it was the literary version of England’s imaginary friends going on adventures and interacting with normal humans. It wasn’t too believable. So when America first picked up one of the books one day when he was at the library, he didn’t expect anything beyond fairies and humans waving wands at one another. What he actually got when he started really reading the books was a whole other story. Who knew magic could be so enticing? Questions about the characters, the plot, and the worldbuilding and backstory behind the books flooded America’s mind every night before he went to sleep. He wondered what would happen in the next book. As soon as he got the chance, he would immediately run to the library and check out the rest of the books. Which he did, at eight a.m. sharp the next morning.

He finished the whole series in only a week, which was already pretty impressive, considering his very work-heavy, free-time-less schedule. After he finished reading the series, he found out that there were movies. And so he rented the movies from his favorite movie rental company, fell into his couch one evening with a large bowl of popcorn and a blanket, and binge-watched the entire series. He stayed up all night watching the movies, and, by the next morning, was too excited to collapse from exhaustion. He wondered if there would be more movies or books to come. Was the author still active in her writing?

America decided the next best course of action was to look up the series on his trusty laptop to gain some general information on when the books were written, and how the fandom was, and so on. That was when he stumbled upon the personality quizzes. America loved personality quizzes, because he loved finding out more things about himself -- such as when he took the “what kind of animal would you be if you reincarnated?” quiz, in which he got an eagle, and promptly flipped out -- and how awesome he was. He took the Hogwarts house quiz first, and discovered he was a Gryffindor. As soon as he got his result, he pumped one fist into the air in approval. After taking several other variations of the same quiz, he confirmed he was indeed the Gryffindor he was now proud of being. As he thought more about the series, he began to wonder what house England belonged in. It was a logical thing for him to wonder! They were friends, of course, and England had been where the series made its premiere, so of course America had to know, and of course he had to know badly enough to text England about it, and of course he had to gape at the phone when he got a response not a minute later, saying Slytherin. That made sense. England could be cunning and sly when he wanted to be. Deep in the corner of America’s mind, he remembered the look England had given him earlier, and he fought back a blush for the millionth time.

America was sure that he didn’t even have to tell England about his new obsession, since he had obsessed over pretty much every popular cultural thing that had risen in England in the last forty years. England would find out about his infatuation in a matter of days, if he hadn’t already figured it out from America’s earlier text.

There weren’t any more world meetings in the next few months, so America was off the hook in terms of work. His boss gave him the all-clear to enjoy his rapidly approaching vacation.

The summer was looking up to be pretty good for the music industry. Only a few weeks ago, a new and already-becoming-popular song was released by a well-loved _American_ singer. America had been driving through the city that afternoon, sighing contently at the way the cool summer breeze reached through the open car window and ruffled his hair. Loud rock music blasted through the radio, probably causing a miniature earthquake in the ground underneath. The cheerful young nation sang along in a loud and off-key manner, but he didn’t really care. He knew his own citizens did the same all the time. After all, who didn’t sing loudly and off-keyly when it was summer and their favorite songs were playing on the radio?

As the song ended, America turned onto the highway, and waited patiently for the next song to play. Of course, the radio people couldn’t resist putting in some commentary of their own, regarding the song, so he had to listen to that too.

“Up next we have the newest teen sensation, “What Makes You Beautiful,” by One Direction!”

And then that damn song started playing.

When America finally arrived at his destination, he had the song stuck in his head, and he knew that the same thing was happening all over again, just like it had back in the 1960s, like the very first time it had happened. His predictions turned out to be right. In just a few months, the song had gone from the number one hit in the UK to the number one hit in the US. It was such a ridiculous song, he thought, but that never stopped hyperactive American teenage girls from fangirling over their British guy bands. Not that he was a hyperactive teenage girl. But he was _kind of_ a teenager. And he still worshiped England, probably more so than those teenagers actually did.

He also couldn’t help it when his stupid brain started thinking about England and how beautiful he was… and there he goes again! America slapped his face once. Ugh. He couldn’t keep letting his feelings for England affect him the way they were affecting him. He needed to stay confident and logical. But why was it that a simple song from the older nation could make him blush and shift uncomfortably? A part of his mind knew it was because of his now very real and dangerous feelings. Oh, how America wanted to be the one telling England that he didn’t know he was beautiful. Except it would be too cliche. And England would probably bitch slap him for it. Or punch him in the jaw, like that one time where America had gotten too close to him, and England had gotten all… weird.

Needless to say, other cultural fads swept over America over the months and years, until he couldn’t quite keep track of when one obsession had begun and another had slowly died down. And yet, when he was reminded of all the things from England he loved, he could go on about those things for hours. Canada was one person who was unfortunately exposed to this on a regular basis. Ever since America’s obsession with England began, America couldn’t bring himself to talk to the older nation, because he would always get really flustered when reminded that he liked the other nation. So every time America had something new to rant and complain about, he would call up Canada, who would meekly pick up the phone, and passively-aggressively listen to America’s complaining. And occasionally respond with a word or two, before being drowned out by his louder sibling once again. Sadly, Canada’s advice never actually made its way into America’s thoughts, because he must have forgotten them as soon as they were uttered. So Canada simply chose to stay out of the way for the duration of the affair.

Once again, it was time for a world meeting. America was completely out of any sort of dignity at this point, despite the fact that he had convinced himself he was still able to kind of pretend he was confident in his ability to not stammer a while ago. It didn’t really help that the world meeting was taking place in England, either. Now he had no choice but to gaze at the beautiful city of London, blushing whenever he thought about the other nation.

He simply headed to the meeting room, a shadow of his former self’s confidence in his stride. He opened the doors gently so that they did not swing open and slam into the walls and break like usual. He ignored the judging stares that he always got. And he finally sat down in his designated spot, next to England, without as much enthusiasm to prove his awesomeness as he might have had decades ago. Part of his mind wondered how he always got a seat next to England. Perhaps it was because of their alliance, or maybe something else was at play.

Surprisingly, he was early this time, so he had nothing to do except take out his notebook that was supposed to be for notes that he never used, and doodle stuff in it. He had this great idea for a new movie, you see. It was going to be an action movie, of course. And it would involve aliens, and a conspiracy theory that turns out to be true. That was all he had planned for the plot so far. What about the cast? There weren’t too many good actors so far that he could come up with, and the ones that were good were already overused, appearing again and again in four or five separate movies. Perhaps he could look to casting another one of England’s -- oh, damn, not because they were attractive or anything! He simply had no good actors of his own!

The room was filled with a comfortable, though slightly unnerving quietness. Some other early arrivers had begun chatting with one another. America found enjoyment in doing quick sketches of characters in his awesome American pop art style.

“America?” A voice to his right whispered, and he froze.

“Y-yes?” The young nation slowly cranked his neck to face the speaker.

“Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange for quite a while now.” It was England of course, concern radiating from his dazzling eyes and gentle gestures. America tried not to swoon like an anime schoolgirl.

“Of course!” America easily fell into his cheerful and energetic demeanor once more, “I’m always the hero! I have to be okay to help others!” As a last resort, he tried flashing England one of his brightest smiles.

England simply sighed and looked away for a moment, as if he was remembering something from the not so distant past.

“You’ve been stammering every time you speak, and I don’t think you’ve intentionally given me direct eye contact since 1964,” England finally admitted after a tense moment of silence.

America did feel a little guilty after hearing this. England wasn’t exaggerating in any manner at all, actually, and was probably understating how long the two of them had gone without direct eye contact. Boy, America sure did love not giving a friend eye contact and being flustered all the time!

And so the younger nation took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Sorry, England. I’m just… a little overwhelmed, that’s all!” He said, confidently and cheerfully.

“By what?”

“By everything that everyone has been teasing me about in the last, I don’t know, fourty, fifty years?” America said, and then winced a little, since it came out a little sharper than he had hoped.

England raised an eyebrow, and it just kept going up and up until America thought it would fly off his forehead altogether and hit the ceiling.

“Is this about that movie you made?” England asked.

“...Yes.”

“Why are you so caught up over the movie? It’s been a few decades since it was released, and I know you’re the type to get excited over a new movie and quickly forget it exists months later when another exciting one gets made,” England sighed.

“It’s just that, uh. You know. It features--”

“He’s embarrassed about the part where it features your actors and setting!” France, who had appeared out of nowhere, hollered from across the room.

“Wow, thanks, France, for saying that and embarrassing me in front of everybody, not to mention the whole world! Literally!” America shouted, then realized he probably shouldn’t have said that, and looked at England. His eyes widened at the same rate that England’s narrowed.

England only appeared slightly offended. And by slightly offended, America meant simmering-under-the-surface angry. It didn’t really help that England was one of the more proud and patriotic personifications he knew, though America was definitely the most proud, patriotic personification out of all of them. So maybe he had offended his friend a little more harshly than he had hoped, not that he hoped he offended England at all. England definitely took it the wrong way.

“Oh. Is that it? You’re embarrassed because my excuse for a culture had the nerve to appear in one of your movies? Are your movies too good for that?” England snapped, immediately stiffening.

“No, no! It’s not that! I-” America waved his hands around wildly as he spoke, desperately trying to get England to just listen to him, but he was cut off before he could utter another word.

“Nevermind the fact that it was one of the most popular films in your country for a good span of time either! You clearly didn’t like it. Was the fact that it was a Disney film the sole reason it was even popular at all? I can’t believe you, America. And here I had hoped that maybe you were beginning to show some more proper respect for someone else other than yourself!” England shouted.

The room really did go silent right then, as everyone ceased moving. It was so quiet that somewhere far away, a ringing bell tower was the only thing to be heard. England was breathing heavily from his shouting. America twitched once, twice.

And then England turned around on his heel and promptly left the room, movements as smooth and liquid-like as that of a feline. America couldn’t help but note that even in a moment when any other person would have been stomping, England still maintained his regal grace. It was just another trait that America really admired of his fellow nation, and he wished with all his heart that he could finally let England know. The door was thrown open and slammed shut. A few papers that had been resting precariously close to the edge of the meeting desk slid off and floated to the floor.

“Angleterre and all his dramatic actions!” France commented.

“Shut up,” America mumbled, now distressed.

“You know, if you were to make a move this time instead of staying silent whenever England’s influence on you came up, maybe something would change,” France began, and the volume of his words dropped dramatically. America looked up in surprise. So France was serious. “You’ve always spoken your mind, at all of these meetings and then some. Why can’t you be more open with Angleterre? He is almost as oblivious as you, Amerique.”

A chill ran down his spine as America realized what France was hinting at. He didn’t even have time to comment something witty to shoot France’s accusations down as his face promptly turned a shade of red so bright his linguists would clearly have to come up with a new word to be able to describe it.

“Go on, go after him!” A soft voice urged from the side of the room.

America’s head snapped in the voice’s direction. It was Canada. Since when had he gotten here…?

“I know what you’re thinking, America, and now’s not the time for that. Just go find England and tell him, please!” Canada shouted only slightly more loudly than before.

America made no comment as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He was a hero. A hero always overcame his fears and won the love interest in the end! Surely this story would end happily too…

All other thoughts were abandoned as America ran out the meeting room in pursuit of England.

It took the golden haired nation almost ten minutes to find England, though when he did, he wasn’t surprised at all to see where the other had run off to. England was standing at the side of that one bridge that crossed a river, overlooking his beautiful city, arms resting on the rails. When America approached, England never even acknowledged him. He simply kept staring off into the distance, likely gazing down at the water and the reflection of the buildings. However, his head wasn’t completely turned away from the younger nation, and that was how America knew that England was still paying attention to him.

America stopped only two feet away from England. He closed his eyes and breathed out, slowly. What words could he have to offer as consolation? He had been pretty rude to England ever since his crush-bordering-on-obsession began, choosing to avoid him whenever they saw each other. He decided it was worth a try anyway, if it was to make England feel better.

“England, I,” America paused briefly to regain his thoughts. “I hope you know that what I said earlier wasn’t what I meant, it just came out a little differently than I had hoped it would--”

“Oh, so you’re only here to offer me pity, then!” England snapped, still refusing to glance at America.

“I know you don’t want pity,” America stated. He knew it was true. Even when England had been suffering during the blitz of World War II, he had chosen to remain strong and never showed any weaknesses. “And I admire that of you.”

England scoffed quietly.

“And I know this is going to sound cheesy, but I admire so many other things about you, too,” America continued, desperately hoping that his words were getting through to the older nation. “I really admire your culture, and your language, and, well, I think you already know that.”

He thought before continuing.

“Do you remember 1963?” America asked.

A tense moment passed before there was a response.

“Yes, actually, I do,” England murmured softly.

“It was a great year for your music. I hope you realize that it was for me, too. You know why they call it the British Invasion. England, I couldn’t stop listening to your music for a solid two or three years!” America exclaimed, suddenly smiling. He had gotten caught up in nostalgia over music long aged, though still appreciated nonetheless.

America could see the corner of England’s mouth twitch. The slight movement told America all he had needed to know -- England knew and remembered.

“And the James Bond series! I loved that series so much, and I still do!” America smiled once more.

“Of course you did,” England commented from his position overlooking the beautiful sparkling river, “You’ve never been able to resist hero stories that you could relate to.”

“The Cold War was a dark time,” America agreed. “But I still thought your secret service was cool.”

A small cluster of tourists passed by the two nations at this time. America could easily overhear a few phrases and words. It turns out they were his people. Of course, he thought, smile growing wider, part of him would be admiring England as they spoke.

“So what was it with you and your Mary Poppins movie?” England asked, breaking the short moment of silence once more.

It was at this point in America’s lovelorn speech that England stopped staring out at some distant point on the river, and actually turned, slowly, to face America, sweeping him up in that beautiful green gaze. America felt himself freeze up from the nerves. But he couldn’t stop now, not while he was so close to finally opening his heart to England -- yes, that is what he was going to do.

“Who wouldn’t like a musical Disney movie that featured London? And then there was Doctor Who!” America exclaimed, his face scrunching up in excitement, “And damn you for ruining my life with that!”

To his surprise, England chuckled quietly.

“Harry Potter, One Direction, just, ugh,” America finally stopped talking and sighed, though he still couldn’t help but let a smile pass over his features.

The younger nation took one step towards England, closing off the distance between them. England slowly let his gaze rise a few inches until he met America’s.

“Well, you already know that I really like your culture,” America admitted, looking away bashfully. “I didn’t really want to creep you out because all I would ever talk about was you. I don’t think that much attention is healthy for any one person. I used your actors and your city because I liked them, England!”

It dawned on both of them that somehow, their hands had become entwined in the same cliche way their fates had. Both turned to look at their clasped hands, with the faintest of blushes spreading across their faces.

“And, although you probably already know this, I really like you, too.” It was at this point that the blush America had been trying to suppress from appearing returned in full force, and he had to suppress the need to turn away in a pathetic attempt to hide his red face. But this confession was too important to occur without the honesty of eye contact. “I’ve always admired you, even when I was little. You were always so great. I would look up at you and relax because I knew nothing in the world could beat you. And even when you were attacked constantly, you held up, and I knew you would survive. You’re so strong, and clever, and really, really beautiful.”

America expected England to scoff, or mutter something like, “You stupid git,” but he was eerily silent. Was England crying?

“Oh no, I’m sorry, please don’t cry!” America started to panic, and, facing a lack of words that could accurately describe his emotions, chose to pull England into a gentle hug. Slim arms slid around the taller nation’s back, and together the two men stood there silently, in a hug that seemed to last for an eternity.

“Do you really feel that way?” England whispered into America’s shoulder.

“Yes,” America whispered back.

Both simultaneously stepped back from the hug, but it was natural this time. Not rushed. It wasn’t like one of them pushed the other away, like so many times before in the past. England slowly reached up and stroked America’s face with one hand. America couldn’t help but close his eyes and lean into the touch.

“I’m sorry for making you cry,” America mumbled as his loudness promptly left him in the tender moment.

“Well at least I’m not crying from being sad, unlike a certain other time,” England tried to snap, and failed, as he sniffled a little.

It was just then that America opened his eyes and noticed that it was, indeed, not raining -- a rare occurrence here in England, where rain was pretty much a daily event. It was a known fact that the emotions of personifications did have a small effect on the weather in their countries. That was partially why America’s home was always sunny. He himself was a cheerful person. And poor England, on the other hand, had to live in rain the majority of the time. And it was in that moment that the cloudy but rainless sky shifted to give way to a small beam of sunlight. It was like the heavens had parted to literally bathe the two nations in a spotlight. America smiled at the clicheness of it all. It was like a scene in one of his trademark romcoms!

“You know, England, I think part of the reason why I’m so cool is because I borrowed a lot of cool stuff from you!” America broke the sweet moment in favor of sprouting loud, annoying statements.

“You ruined the moment.”

“Whatever!”

“And when you say ‘borrowed,’ you do mean ‘stole,’ correct? That is exactly what you did. And you didn’t even take the effort to make sure whatever you ‘borrowed’ maintained its high quality and instead downgraded it to a more authentically American version. I do not know what I expected,” England commented. America casually chose to respond to the hint thrown at him referencing his so called “butchering of the English language,” for once.

“Hey!” he protested. “I still appreciate Shakespeare and stuff!”

“I don’t think that is enough, lad.”

“Well, then, most of my people still like your accent!” America claimed in a last-resort attempt at doing something heroic like impressing England.

England blushed heavily at this, but still didn’t pass up on the opportunity to make a comment. “That is only because your grammar and pronunciation are so horrid that you are impressed simply by the speaking of proper English,” he finished with a smirk.

America laughed loudly and inched a bit closer to the stuffy Brit.

“I’m not impressed in that sense, if you know what I mean,” he whispered, leaning in a bit, and even took the liberty of suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

“If you’re going to try to flirt, you may as well follow your trademark strategy of barging in without a second thought. This is painful to watch,” England stated. For yet another tense moment, America felt England’s sharp green eyes surveying him, sweeping up his body. America himself used the moment to admire the curve of England’s jaw, his pale skin, his soft-looking hair… Then, suddenly, fingers wrapped around America’s tie, and England pulled the younger nation three inches closer so that their lips could finally meet.

America could not describe the way he tensed up and melted into the kiss at the same time. It was like he had finally found his niche in the world, right there in that exact position and moment. Could he just mentally say that England’s lips were really soft? Because wow, they were. America’s mind floated along in a misty haze of bliss, and he barely consciously acknowledged wrapping his arms around England’s waist, or England’s other hand slipping behind his head and playing with his hair. Alas, no kiss could last forever, and after a short span of time that should totally have lasted longer, they parted in order to breathe.

“I…” America paused. What could he say? He had just kissed his former guardian and closest ally, a person he had had a tense and complicated history with, complete with mixed signals and angsty moments spanning several hundred years.

England simply exhaled softly.

America realized that the two had embraced again, warmly and gently in a way that he hadn’t known he was yearning for. England rested his chin on America’s shoulder, and in turn, America’s chin hovered somewhere near England’s ear.

“So, if I like you, how do you feel about me?” He tried to whisper, and failed, because it was simply impossible for him to tone down his voice anywhere below ninety decibels.

England looked away and tapped a finger against his chin in the perfect image of exaggerated thought. After a moment, he stopped, then returned his gaze to America. A gentle smile graced his face.

“Let’s see. I think you’re obnoxious. You’re loud, really irritating, cannot read the atmosphere…” he paused. “The list simply goes on and on. I _should_ hate you.”

America was a little let down by this, and maybe even hurt, but his happy moment was saved before it could be ruined.

“Joking. It was a joke. I have a sense of humor,” England snapped. He ran a hand through America’s soft gold locks before continuing. “The truth is, despite the fact that you haven’t had as much time to develop a more distinct culture as a nation, what you do have is amazing. And I appreciate that about you.”

America smirked to himself when he realized what England was talking about. Quite recently, the both of them had gotten caught up in old wild west films during their shared movie nights. Although everyone always said that America could never read the atmosphere, or most nation’s thoughts and emotions, he sometimes broke that stereotype. He knew exactly what England had been thinking as they watched the movie. He could tell that England had been sneaking glances at him throughout the marathon, and he savored every unobvious second of it. Though he couldn’t find it in himself to tease the older nation about it later. So he might as well take advantage of the moment ripe for teasing.

“Is this about that one time we watched the--”

“Shut up,” England whispered and blushed an even darker shade of red.

“Knew it,” America said and mentally pumped a fist in the air. Then he suddenly remembered something. “What about that one time you came over after World War One, where we finally started talking again?”

It had been a very wild time in the states. The Roaring Twenties, all capitalized and formally named and everything. By totally swooping in to save England like the most epic hero ever, America had proclaimed that he should at least be able to talk to England a bit, instead of trying to avoid him like both of them had been doing for the last century. And so he had proposed that England come visit. It was really fun, too. There was a lot of dancing. And guns. And a shootout, or two. But in the end, the hero and his friend had saved the day!

“Truthfully, that was another wonderful era in your history,” England agreed. “And there were so many other moments. You don’t have to list all of them to prove your worth, America.”

The two turned to look over the bridge at the rippling river below. America’s gaze was brought to a small boat sailing its way along the water. And in that moment, as the two soaked up some comforting silence, America realized just how beautiful and perfect everything was. Again. The sun peeking out behind darker gray clouds looked amazing. He really wished he had his wonderful camera at hand. This would make a perfect photo. Or at least a decently epic romcom ending.

“We should probably head back now,” England pointed out after a few minutes, “As we’ve been gone for at least twenty minutes by now.”

“Oh. Yeah,” America said, then laughed nervously. Where had his confidence gone? It had left him, and in its place, a happiness that threatened to burst his heart had come to stay. Honestly, he could kind of prefer the latter.

And so the two nations left their spot standing by the side of the bridge, and walked, hand in hand, back towards the meeting center.

 

* * *

 

It was time for yet another world meeting. It’s always time for a world meeting. When is it ever not a world meeting, America wondered. Never, that is. The meeting of the first day had passed relatively quickly, and, in comparison to so many other meetings in the past, had been much more smooth and successful. For once, no one actually got in a full out fight. America had noticed that Germany had been shocked speechless at the end of the day. No one had interrupted anyone else, with the exception of England and France, and Switzerland, who made his opinion on a few nations’ lack of opinions very loud and clear. It had to be some kind of world record for the most peaceful world meeting ever. America made a note to jot this down in one of his soon to be published record books later.

As of the present moment, America had grabbed his briefcase in one hand and headed out. Just as he reached the giant, fancy revolving doors at the front entrance, he remembered his plans with England. The two of them had gotten together only a few months ago, and ever since then, the entire known world had somehow figured out. The gossip didn’t die down until maybe only a few days ago. He remembered getting congratulations from Italy, Japan, and worst of all, France. But America knew that even if he had to suffer embarrassment for the rest of his days, he would still love England. The young nation blushed slightly at the thought of his lover. It had been months and he still couldn’t quell the fluttering of his heart. As traditional couples did, they still tried to get together as often as possible in order to enjoy each other’s company. Unfortunately, with being nations and all, they had close to no free time. Usually, the hours after world meetings were the only times they could meet up.

After contemplating his earlier thoughts for a moment longer, he decided that he would call England over so they could hang out and watch some more movies or something.

America found his phone and began typing out a text message to England. The message basically consisted of America asking England if he had any more cool shows or stuff to show to America. As the message sent, America regretfully admitted to himself that England would definitely have more cool shows and stuff to show America, and that he was likely making a mistake by doing this. By the end of the day, he could be buried under three more shows and two more fashion trends. Could being the key word.

England did not respond for several hours. When he did, America was already back in his house, melting into the couch and harshly stabbing the remote over and over again in a vain attempt at finding something worthwhile to watch. He had already plowed through the entirety of the Doctor Who disks England gave him, and now he was deprived of stuff to watch. As always, the precise older nation had uncanny perfect timing.

The phone chimed, and America leaned over the edge of the couch to grab it.

_I’ll be at your house in about ten minutes with some shows. Stay put._

America grinned to himself as he recklessly threw his phone back on the small side table. He wondered what England would get him into now. Perhaps another sci-fi show? Or maybe a drama? Or maybe they were movies instead of shows? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He only knew that whatever it was, he would likely fall in love with it within the first few minutes.

When England finally arrived, he was greeted by a hug capable of choking a small bear. After the greeting was over, he handed his disks to America, smirking during the exchange. England knew that America could in no way resist this show. It had everything the younger nation wanted: Mystery, crime, a hero and sidekick, and his own actors. Especially the last part. If America was given any movie or show with British actors in it, he would declare whatever he was given the best thing ever. And then he would secretly plaster the walls of his bedroom with posters of those actors. England knew. He had seen the posters, once. In order to save America’s last remaining shreds of dignity, England kindly never brought it up.

Soon, the two of them were sitting together on the couch, watching Sherlock, with America leaning on England’s shoulder, and England trying not to get squished, along with three bowls of popcorn, a cup of tea, and the most lovely and comforting atmosphere possible.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The moment they were discussing near the end of the fic references another fanfic I will be writing shortly in the future. It's a canonverse roaring twenties fic. It's going to be good.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you'd like, please check out my other fics under this username! And here is my tumblr, if you are interested: cosmicconundrum.tumblr.com
> 
> [](http://cosmicconundrum.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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